The road to Grimwood stretches ahead of us. After over an hour on the highway, Danny takes an exit that leads onto a dirt road. It's your average small, rundown Midwest town; nothing but an old gas station and a white-steepled church for blocks. After five minutes, we even pass by a local watering hole with two motorcycles and a tomcat outside.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" I ask Danny, who's in the driver's seat.

He nods, his eyes never wavering from the road. "Yep. This is Waterton Creek. That's where Grimwood is."

Ouch. I can't blame him for being short with me. I've replayed our conversation in my mind since that night, mostly because I regret how I spoke to him. Why couldn't I have been more supportive?

Why couldn't he? I also think, but I'd never say that out loud. Well, at least not to his face.

More silence passes as the dusty streets go by. Eventually, Danny takes a right turn, and the street turns into another dirt road, but one that's narrow. The van rocks a bit, and I can only imagine how Georgia must feel in the back. Thankfully, I can't hear her.

The road winds and curves with large trees surrounding us on either side. When they finally clear, the manor comes into view.

As soon as I see it and take it in, I lose my breath. It's gorgeous. The house — which is an unfair descriptor to use — is a dark color, almost black, with huge white windows all along the wide structure. If eyes are the windows to the soul, these windows will tell me all of the manor's secrets.

"Wow," I let out in a short breath as Danny puts the van in park. "I didn't realize..."

"It's amazing, isn't it?" He says just as breathlessly. I look at him. His smile is broad with genuine excitement. As I meet his strong gaze, I feel an invisible link between us, as if we're sharing a connection, an understanding. As if nothing is wrong at all.

My breath catches. "Danny, I —"

Before I can twist my words anymore, there's a loud knock on my window. I jump and turn in my seat. Georgia stands outside with her hand on her hip and an eyebrow raised.

"Hell-o?" She says with a twinge of annoyance. "You coming or what?"

I sigh and look back over my shoulder at Danny to give him that side-eye look. But he's already opening his door, so I only side-eye his back. And what a good back he has. His shoulder blades flex under the cotton of his long sleeve shirt—

Georgia taps on the window again. "Earth to Claire!" Her muffled voice comes through the glass. I take a deep breath before opening the door, letting the country air wash over me as Georgia's voice comes full-blast.

"About time!" She says, then does a spin. The breeze whips through her hair. "Alright, people!" She claps. "We got a show to prepare!"

What's left of daylight reflects on the tall gabled roof and the windows. From further away, I thought the manor looked older and more rundown — you know, like it's supposed to be, given it's abandoned and going to be torn down in two weeks. But the windows look spotless. There are also no cobwebs or overgrown vines to be seen.

It's as if someone has been out here taking care of the place.

Behind me, Seth slides the van door open. He begins to take out some equipment and he passes them to Danny, who does most of the heavy lifting. Georgia, not so much, but that's expected. I approach the van.

"Hey, Seth," I say as I hold my arms out, wordlessly offering my help. He gives me a quick nod as he passes a couple of cameras to me. "You researched this place, right?"

He laughs as if that was supposed to be a joke. When I don't smile, he straightens his face. "Uh, yeah, of course." He furrows his brows. "Didn't you?"

I bite the corner of my mouth. "A little bit." I'll admit my enthusiasm for this haunt has been less than normal. There's something about this place that doesn't sit right with me. While I'm usually the one who reaches out to the owners of the properties, I passed that responsibility to Georgia this time. I did do some quick Google searches and I perused the entire Grimwood Wikipedia, which was no more than a few paragraphs.

"Anyway," I say, refocusing, "Are we sure it's really abandoned?" The Wiki mentioned who the previous owners were, but not who currently owns it.

Seth tilts his head thoughtfully. "Well, the word 'abandoned' is overused, as we both know," he says using air quotes. "But in the technical sense, yes, it is abandoned." He pauses. "Why?"

I swallow hard. I may not believe in all of this paranormal bullshit, but I've always been a conspiracy theorist at heart; ask me about who I think really killed Jon Benet Ramsey, and I could talk about that all fucking day. But even after working with these guys for over a year, I tend to keep my crazy, cynical thoughts to myself. Most of the time.

So, instead of telling him what I'm really thinking, I ask, "Do you know who the current owner is?"

He gives me an amused smirk. "I believe that is a question for our dear Georgia." Before I can make a crack back at him, he lifts his head and his gaze goes over my head. "Well, looks like you're in luck," he says, pointing behind me.

Turning, I shield my eyes from the glaring sun and see a car coming up from the narrow dirt road. It kicks up dust as it comes closer and faster. I notice the BMW emblem on the front of the car as it enters the property and screeches to a halt behind the van. I quickly hand the cameras back to Seth, who looks at me bewilderedly.

The driver's side door opens, and a woman steps out. She has stark red hair that flows over her shoulders. She runs her hand over her gray pantsuit before she shuts the car door and steps toward us.

"Ah," she says as she locks eyes with me. "You must be Claire." I don't hide my surprise as I shake her hand. "I have to say, you look much taller on your streams."

I raise my brows. "You watch our channel?"

She smirks lightly. "I do my research, Ms. McKinley."

"Mrs. Crenshaw!" Georgia says excitedly behind me. She hurries past me, holding her hand out. "It's so nice to meet you in person!"

"Please," she says lowly. "Call me Bridget."

Georgia beams. "Thank you, Bridget, for letting us stream from your home."

She looks past us and up at the manor. A dark look crosses her face. "It won't be for much longer."

"Why are you having it torn down?" I ask. When her deep blue eyes snap to mine, I flinch. "If you don't mind me asking." I quickly add.

Bridget looks at me sharply. "I think you know why, darling."

I could say that I don't, that I don't even believe in ghosts, but that wouldn't be good for business, would it? So, I smile instead. "Of course."

"Here," she holds out a ring of several keys. "You should be able to get into any room with these."

Georgia looks between me and Bridget with her eyebrows pulled together. "The front door was unlocked when we got here though."

The woman doesn't look any bit surprised by this. "Oh, was it?" Again, this smile pulls at her mouth, but it's not quite an amused one. It's different. "I see." After a beat, she exhales. "Well, if there isn't anything else you need..."

"Actually, I do have another question. If you don't mind."

She looks at me. "Yes, Claire?"

"How long have you been moved out of the manor?"

She pauses and taps her arm with her finger. "For a while. Several years, at least." She tilts her head. "Color me curious. Why do you ask?"

Oh no. Now I have to explain. I laugh nervously. "I was just wondering if anyone else has been out here, taking care of the place."

Bridget stares at me with a blank look on her face. She blinks a few times then says, "No. No one comes out here anymore."

My stomach twists, but I don't say anything. I want to ask about the windows and the state of the property, but I don't. This, I keep to myself. I smile. Like always. "Thank you, Bridget. Again."

She smiles at us as well. "Of course. Have fun with the stream, and be safe." She takes a step toward me, her eyebrows straightening out. "Oh, and to satisfy your earlier question... Bad memories. That's why."

Before I can react, Bridget smiles broadly and walks to her car. She opens the door and waves. "I'll be watching!" She calls out and gets back into her car. She quickly peels away, kicking up just about the rest of the dirt in the process.

"You know," Georgia says beside, "I think I'm more scared of her than the ghosts." I turn to look at her, and I can't hold back. We both burst into laughter. What a goofball.

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